


War of the Mind

by Malind



Category: X-Men RPF, X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) RPF, X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: Drinking, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 05:50:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5731768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malind/pseuds/Malind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Michael gets nailed by a BB gun, James tries to resist his physical and emotional feelings towards his best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	War of the Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This was written purely for fun and no harm is intended to either of these wonderful actors.

**Chapter 1: In the Trailer**

 

"Is Jen the one who got you?" James asked as he tried to yank the older man's hand away from his eye, but Michael jerked away, although he didn't get far with his butt firmly planted on a chair. "You're such a fuckin' baby, Michael! You didn't whine nearly this much when I crashed that cart. And you got scarred for that one."

Michael pressed his hand solidly against his face, grimacing at the self-inflicted pain. "Yeah, well, you didn't take my eye out that time either."

James groaned, straightening, bringing his hands to his hips. While the trailer was roomy, it didn't allow for enough maneuverability to get the older man into a proper stranglehold without damaging furniture. Reasoning with the man wasn't getting James far either.

"If your eye was taken out, you'd be bleeding all over the fucking place. Now let me see it, you stupid cunt." He tried again to rip the strong hand away and was shoved back a step by the man's other strong hand. "No wonder why you're a nearly 40 year old bachelor!"

That earned him a glare from the man's uncovered eye. The glare lasted a few seconds too many. By the end, James realized he'd maybe harped on his friend a bit too much.

"Fine! Here." Michael dropped his blood tinged hand.

Resisting the urge to clear his throat in a vain attempt to release the tension in the air, James leaned forward to examine the side of his friend's face. Blood marred his cheek. But the cut right under the older man's eye was small, just a nick. The BB gun had done minimal damage, but more than if it'd hit a less tender part of the man's skin.

By the time James realized that the man was still staring at him, he focused on his eyes and then straightened back up. Gone was the glare. In its place was something James wasn't sure he wanted to define. "Just sit there."

That spoken, James stalked to the bathroom, grabbed a hand towel, wet it down with some warm tap water, and moved to stand back in front of Michael who was looking towards the floor, his hand back over his eye. This time, the man didn't resist when James pulled at his hand. He let it go and used his same hand to grip the other man's chin. The skin under his fingers was unexpectedly warm to his touch. Michael closed his eyes, as if he couldn't stand the visual confirmation of their closeness.

James could tell something was different, something had changed. Perhaps it'd been his careless dig on his friend's perpetual singlehood, but such jests hadn't affected his friend in such a way before.

Swallowing, James brushed his extension-lengthened locks of hair behind his ear with a single finger, the rest holding the towel, and then set to work on cleaning off the man's cheek. Most of the mess Michael had created himself by pressing his hand to his face. James saved the cut for last and merely dabbed it, watching the other man flinch, and shook his head. The man was a serious baby.

"It's not bad. Stop crying. It's nothing a little makeup won't fix," James chided with a lopsided grin.

At the words, Michael opened his eyes and looked up at him. Their faces were so close though that James backed his head away a bit when he realized just how close they were. The older man stared at him blatantly, without a shame that James could suddenly feel creeping in on himself. He'd obviously forgotten that he needed to keep a certain amount of distance from this man. He knew from experience that his restraint could fail so easily.

Then James realized he still held the man's chin. He dropped his hand, straightening, and finally did clear his throat from a build-up of saliva.

"It wasn't my plan to be single this long. It just..."

With the way the other man remorselessly looked up at him, James' heart began to race. "Just what?"

When the other man didn't answer, he kicked himself for even asking. They both obviously needed restraint. They both needed to grow up a bit. His wife had warned him about Michael's looks, but he'd ignored her, hadn't wanted to believe in the possibility when his own impulse was so strong.

Michael was his friend, the best friend he'd ever had. He didn't want to fuck up that with something that couldn't have gotten far, even if they'd both wanted it.

Did they both want it?

The thought heated him all the more, and he tried to walk back to the bathroom to put the towel in the hamper, but was stopped with a hand on his arm.

"James..."

"Look, we're due out on set in a few minutes. Let me just put this away."

It was a lame attempt to defuse the situation, but the last thing he wanted to do was shove the other man's hand off of him. He was so fucking weak.

Michael granted him a mercy that some part of him didn't really want, letting go and turning away to carefully press on his cut. James watched him to the point it was noticeable. When his friend looked back at him, he turned on his heel and stalked back to the bathroom. In it, he glared at himself in the mirror.

"Just calm down. This-this..." This what?

This was stupid, foolish, selfish, lustful, overwhelming. Too overwhelming. They needed to stop this, but how?

Maybe he should just give in, just a bit, just to get rid of the sexual tension that may have very well been only in his own head. And when Michael shoved him away, he could accept reality. He could move on and go back home with the reminder and live his life. It might change things a bit, but they were so close, that James didn't think it'd matter much. Michael would get over it, surely he would. And then they could move on.

The plan seemed just as stupid as his prior thoughts and feelings, but the plan still seemed better than the alternative. At least that was what he told himself as he stalked back into the room, grabbed the front of his friend's t-shirt, and planted his lips firmly against Michael's mouth before he could restrain himself and see reality. His friend's hands were instantly on his arms, ready to shove him away, but then the hands gripped, much to James' dismay.

Even more disorientating was the fact that Michael's lips began to move, encouraging him, wanting more. And James gave in to the feeling, something he'd wanted to allow to rise in himself for years, ever since their first movie together.

The hands pulled on him. With Michael sitting down, he would have had to straddle the man to get any closer. As the pulling became more urgent, James did, his hands moving to Michael's shoulders, his legs spreading wide so that their chests could touch, his toes barely touching the floor.

He should have stopped this. He should have had the mentality of the 30's man he was. Instead, he pressed his growing hardness against his friend's body and groaned. Michael deepened the kiss at the sound. The next moan rushed into his friend's mouth, before Michael gripped his face suddenly and pushed him away so that he could look at him.

Flushed, already gleaming with a slight layer of sweat, James had to fight himself to not force the kiss.

"I'm sorry," Michael whispered, "I didn't mean to do that."

Sorry? James was the one who'd come and terrorized his mouth, but maybe his friend was just giving him an opportunity to change his mind, to do what James had originally intended: a quick kiss that would mean nothing.

"You fucking bastard." James meant the words more to himself than to Michael. He shoved himself away and charged to the door, shoving it open and exiting the trailer. He didn't care his hard-on raged. He just had to get away before they both did something they regretted.

 

 

**Chapter 2: At the Bar**

 

The days that followed, James pushed every crazy feeling and urge he had deep down, just so he could function. He had no real choice when Michael acted like it'd never happened and he himself wished it never had.

They'd been stupid, impulsive. Impulsiveness was for racing, acting, BB gun fights on the set. Not for a close, heated, lustful encounter between a married man and his best friend.

A few nights later, on a Saturday, a few of the cast sat around the circular table in a smoke-filled bar. Hugh was talking about the takes that day. They all held drinks, a few of them holding cigarettes in their other hand. James had already had a few pints, being no stranger to alcohol and one of the first there. He could handle his liquor with the best of them.

After a drag on his cigarette, James chuckled at something Hugh had said, laughing more because Michael was than because of any humor found within. James loved the man's laugh. He didn't get to hear it often enough these days, especially when the man was trying to stay in character on set.

Erik Lehnsherr didn't laugh, barely smiled. James tried to remember just one line where he did, but couldn't think of one in either movie. Thank goodness his friend wasn't really Erik considering the stick the character had up his ass.

James grinned at the thought of something up Michael's ass before he could stop himself, and then put down his cigarette and glass, stretched a bit, and stood, saying, "I promised the pot a piss. I'll be back."

"Hey, hold on, I'll come with you," Michael said, putting down his pint and standing up.

James raised a brow at him, but mentally shrugged, trying to make the companionship not more than it really was. As they walked together, James smiling, he laughed out, his voice a bit raised over the din of the room, "Is our friendship entering a whole new level? We going to start holding each other's dicks or something?"

Michael glanced at him and huffed, before he twisted between a couple of chairs that were too close together. "Maybe."

At the word, James was no longer laughing, his pulse picking up.

"Man, I'm kidding." Despite the words, Michael's voice didn't sound quite as sure, at least it didn't to James.

The man wanted to study his friend's face as he walked, so he could convince himself he was seeing something that wasn't there, but the crowded bar didn't allow for it. Instead, he twisted around furniture and people until he shoved the bathroom door open with little grace.

It was a typical bar bathroom. It had three stalls for shitting and three urinals on the opposite wall for pissing, and a sink that would've helped little in cleaning up. The room smelled stale and colorful, so James did his best to hold his breath, the scent making his alcohol-filled belly turn over, as he walked up to the yellow and rust stained piss-catcher.

Next time, he was choosing the meeting place.

Looking at the names and phone numbers on the wall that promised a good time, James let out a slow, but noisy breath, as his bladder emptied. He heard a similar stream next to him and closed his eyes at the temptation to glance over.

The other man finished before him and zipped himself up. Michael had obviously made it an excuse to come with him. No one had a bladder that small.

James was about to open his eyes, when his eyes did flash open at the fingers suddenly clamping onto his hair, holding him there, as Michael yanked him into a kiss. James' stream stopped instantly, and in the back of his mind, he tried to remember number of drinks Michael had drank, while the front of his mind worked on getting himself back into his pants. His hand a bit wet, he used his other one to push back on his friend. Michael's mouth pried off more than it pulled away.

"Fuck, Michael, what are you doing?"

Then his friend shoved him against the wall a few feet away and kissed him again, trying to devour him, it seemed like. As much as his body wanted it, James couldn't release his mind, knowing that, sober, his friend wouldn't be doing this. Besides, the disgusting room wasn't exactly the ideal place for a make-out session. Then again...

No! What the hell was he thinking? This was ridiculous!

Getting angry now, more at himself than at Michael, he shoved the man back again.

Michael looked at him, lust raging his eyes and breaths, alcohol erasing his mind. "Just let me. I won't tell, I swear."

Won't tell? Were they four years old?

Then the man was on him again, making wet trails down his neck, before he fell to his knees and worked on James' pants. For a moment, James let him, but then he looked to the door and realized anyone could have walked in on them.

With the realization, the older man already had his hand in James' pants. He hissed when the hand gripped on his hardening length. He tried to push Michael away again, but it was difficult with the man plastering him against the wall. His only other choices were to kick him or try to twist away. Even as he thought it though, Michael wrapped his mouth around the tip of him, sucking, and James' head fell back, his mouth open to release the staggered, groaning breath. He couldn't believe how good it felt, his body numbed from the alcohol, but then again a good portion of sex was in a person's head, even with a male.

Strong hands gripping his ass over James' pants to hold him steady, the man suckled him, bringing him to the back of his throat, and James had to wonder how the man had gained his talents. Had Michael taken other men? The thought was a bit sobering, but not enough to stop Michael's bobbing head.

When teeth scraped, he hissed and brought both of this hands to grip the man's hair, holding him, so that Michael wouldn't pull away, if he was going to over his reaction. His friend took the hint and sucked harder, bringing his nose to his groin over and over until James lost his mind and his load. His hands gripped the hair tighter as he put everything he had down the man's throat. How Michael didn't throw up from all of the aggression and alcohol, James had no idea, but also couldn't think on it too hard as he leaned back, letting the wall take his weight.

Michael stood up, a bit wobbly, but straight enough, put James' softening cock back in his pants, and zippered them up. During this, he studied James lidded eyes. Lost, confused, sedated, admittedly drunk, James kissed back when Michael kissed and licked him. Soon enough, the older man's body was plastered against him.

When James was sure the man was going to turn him around and take him, the door burst open and Michael yanked away from him. The newcomer looked between them, but was probably as drunk as they were as he proceeded to stagger into a stall. The sound of vomiting echoed off of the walls. His own stomach heaving, James shoved past Michael and out of the bathroom, into the crowd, and out the main entrance.

A moment later, the door burst open again, Michael jerking his head around. When his eyes landed on the younger man, he stalked up to him with admirable accuracy. And then he was on him again, kissing him, wanting him. James lost himself in it so willingly.

Not even a minute later, Michael pulled away, panting, and said, "I'm sorry."

"Don't ever fucking say that to me again," James shot back with venom. He didn't know why he was so angry over the words. Well, probably because he didn't want the other man to be sorry. If they were going to do this, they couldn't be sorry for every moment of it. His Catholic-raised mind couldn't live with that kind of guilt.

His breaths heavy through his nose, Michael kissed him again, softly this time, painfully slow, and James could hear in it every, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

 

 

**Chapter 3: On the Set**

 

That night, lying alone on his bed, his hands clutching the pillow behind his head, thinking about everything, every bit of it laced with Michael's face, sleep couldn't take him no matter how much he begged for its mercy. He'd fucked up. Everything.

James had only caught a glimpse of Michael's face before he'd practically fled back to his trailer. The look on the older man's face, the remorse... He never wanted to see Michael look at him that way again.

His exhausted, drunken mind still couldn't figure out how he'd managed to detach himself from his friend earlier that night, from his hot mouth and body. He could barely remember the ride back to the set on darkened streets. No one had said anything the whole trip. Did they all know how he'd fucked up? Did they know his shame because he wanted Michael so badly it made him want to cry? And he'd called his best friend the baby days before.

Rolling over, he pressed his face into his pillow, trying to create a lack of oxygen so he could pass out and be rid of his mind for a while. When his lungs burned, he turned his head to the side and finally did cry.

The pathetic sobs pained his ears and he suddenly wished he was at home in his wife's arms, so that she could comfort him and tell him that she still loved him. And then he could hang out with Michael the next day or so. They could give each other knowing looks, but they would be satisfied in what they had together: a friendship beyond all measure. And everything would be the way it was.

Could it ever be that way again?

The days that followed slowly and thankfully numbed the memories of heated skin and words. He acted the parts he had to and spent the rest of his time in solitude, trying to recoup himself.

The movie's scene on the plane held emotions that were quite real for him. And the way Michael stared back... Charles would have sworn the older man wasn't acting either. He wanted to shove himself out of his seat, over the chessboard, and kiss his friend in front of all of the cameras. Maybe they could have used it as an outtake and revealed the truth to the world in the same breath: James loved his friend so much.

Later that evening, he found Michael still sitting outside on the set, sipping from a bottle, watching the sun go behind the clouds on the horizon, turning them beautiful shades of red. He walked up to him and sat down next to him. His friend smiled at him and offered him the bottle. James smiled back and then took a swing. It was a bit warm, both on his tongue and in his belly.

"I almost believed you today." James said, "Your intensity... It had even me curling my toes. Never mind how you can fake a good cry... You remember that scene, when you moved the dish? That was some good acting. The crying, I mean."

"Yeah, I know what you're talking about." Michael muttered, before he huffed with a smirk, "But every time you touch me, I want to cry. That wasn't acting." His tone had been light, but James could still hear the truth in it.

"I'm sorry I haven't been talking to you. I'm just... so lost with what happened. But it's no excuse for being a fuckin' asshole to you."

Michael gave him a look over. "I don't mind you being an asshole to me."

James laughed at the double meaning and shook his head. No, nothing was ever going to be the same again. They could pretend it was, but it really wasn't.

The back of the other man's hand touched his cheek and James held his breath as his eyes closed.

Michael said softly, "You do know that I love you?"

The words brought heat to the whole of James. "Yes. Yes, of course I do."

"But do you love me?"

The moment that followed was quiet, peaceful, except for James deepening breaths. Michael dropped his hand, taking the bottle back in the process and a swing. James looked at him, watching each swallow.

"James, I'm not going to say that I'm sorry again. Because I'm not sorry. I just wish... I wish I had met you years ago."

James watched him for a few seconds before he could manage, "A part of me does too, but what I have right now, my family, I would never give that up." James smiled at his friend. "Even for you."

Michael grinned at him. "I'd kick your ass, if you did." He leaned over and kissed James cheek, his jaw, his lips lingering, making the skin wet. James closed his eyes again.

"I'm going to have to tell her, you know." James tiled his head slightly, offering his skin because he didn't want his friend to stop, when the kissing continued down his neck. "Although I think she already suspects. At least, she suspects you."

"Would you tell her if I took you right here on the grass?"

James hummed a moan at the thought and the arm that wrapped around him to the side of his face and brought their mouths together. James tasted the fresh alcohol in his friend's mouth and drank of it, licking him. The lust began to burn, but this time, it was mixed with something far deeper.

Reaching up to grip the other man's face, James pulled back and looked over his friend, memorizing his hungry, wanting expression. "I do love you, so much."

Michael pulled him back into a deep kiss, and James turned his body, sitting on his friend's lap, never breaking the contact. He heard a sound as the beer bottle was tossed. His friend's arms wrapped around him, holding him close, so close that he almost couldn't breathe. He could feel the love in that embrace and it made him love Michael all the more.

When their hips began to grind against each other, after the older man undid James' pants, slipping them down just enough to gain entrance, Michael spit in his hand, the only lube they had available, and slowly worked finger after finger into his hole, until there was three stretching him, making James pump his hips and his erection against the man's stomach. James couldn't stop kissing him, moaning into his mouth, his head light while his body only wanted more.

At the urging, James lifted his hips so that Michael could pull out his length and slicked it up the best he could with some more spit. With an urging in the opposite direction, James felt the tip pressed against him, sliding into his wet, stretched hole. Michael's moan met his groan. With a delicacy that he was sure drove the man underneath him crazy, James worked the length into himself and finally broke their lips apart when his backside was planted firmly on his friend's lap, when dizziness overtook him.

James sat there, feeling the hardness inside of himself, stretching him, filling him, as the other man kissed his neck and collarbone. "I love you so much, Michael," he whispered with heavy breaths.

Michael yanked up his shirt, probably taking out his desire and impatience on something that wouldn't bleed, and James wrapped his arms around him and smiled as the man's hungry mouth licked and nipped at his chest.

When he began riding the man's cock, the change in Michael's breaths were instantaneous. James listened to it, to the wet sounds of their fucking, and couldn't stop his own moaning. The rises and falls of their voices, their heavy breaths, the wet sounds of flesh, melded into the quiet night, until the sounds seemed like they were supposed to be there. Soon, Michael stroked the length of his cock that had been hitting his torso repeatedly, making the younger man shudder.

Their bodies connected for a seeming eternity, but it couldn't have been more than a few minutes before Michael's vocalizations took on a whole new level. The sounds of Michael, the tensing's of his body, as he came deep inside of him, drove James over the edge. His cum wet both of their shirts with the older man's aggressive pumps.

Once again spent and sedated, but this time, happy, James kissed his friend with all the love he had for him. And was more than happy when Michael kissed him back just the same.


End file.
